


Code Platypus: Perry of the Rebellion or How I Turned a Rag-Tag Terrorist Group into a Full-Blown Rebellion [RWBY]

by k4rn0



Category: RWBY
Genre: CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUS!!!, Ciaphas Cain-ish, F/M, Gen, It's Code Geass...Starring CiapahsCain!Perry, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k4rn0/pseuds/k4rn0
Summary: Perry the Platypus' only wish is to live a happy, quiet, and peaceful life which usually involve a stable job, a happy marriage, and a good family. It most certainly did NOT involve joining a terrorist group, being made leader of said terrorist group, and being chased around by the Military for crimes which he did not (intentionally) commit. Inspired by Arc of the Revolution.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Kudos: 1





	Code Platypus: Perry of the Rebellion or How I Turned a Rag-Tag Terrorist Group into a Full-Blown Rebellion [RWBY]

**Author's Note:**

> A little pet project of mine that I'd written before Volume 7. Eventually I just have to write this down and publish this. Inspired by Arc of the Revolution and starring Perry the Platypus as the our (not very) brave and (un)lucky hero.

# Code Platypus: Perry of the Rebellion

# or

# How I Turned a Rag-Tag Terrorist Group into a Full-Blown Rebellion

_“These are the tactics of cowards! Not soldiers!”_

_“That’s probably one of the reason why I have more men than you do.”_

-Perry the Platypus, supposedly spoken during an argument with Adam Taurus

_“Bravery is a common trait I found in the White Fang when I took over. Now if only those brave fools have half as many common sense as bravery.”_

-Perry the Platypus

_"I fear no mere man! But that...thing...it scares me."_

-An Atlesian officer, concerning Perry the Platypus.

_"One shudders to imagine what inhuman thoughts lie behind that mask... What dreams of chronic, sustained cruelty, and genius strategies..."_

-Clover Ebi

It is nearly impossible to talk of the Great Revolution without first having to talk about the Proclamation of Atlas. It’ll be like trying to talk about the Prodigy Huntress, Ruby Rose without her weapon, Crescent Rose or Jaune Arc without Pyrhha Nikos or my father, Doctor Oobleck without his fixation on caffeine. It just wouldn’t be the same without.

But first some context.

Now as we have previously discussed in the earlier chapters, after the failure of Operation Blizzard the mighty military of Atlas had suffered some losses along its frontier. Forts were taken and vandalized, military facility raided, Bullheads airline and trail roads blocked and disrupted, Dust Mine attacked and their Faunus worker liberated and armed with stolen Atlesian weaponry and as of the previous chapter, the city of Mantle, the old capital of the Kingdom was besieged and sacked.

The neat little borders and frontier which Atlas had carefully create and expand overtime had, at this point, be turned into a dangerous military zone where the freezing woods and snowy mountains could hide dozens of enemies. Winter Schnee and other notable Atlesian Specialist were at their wit’s end trying to tangle back the situation. General Ironwood worked overtime trying, and failing, to restore some sense of order and Atlesian influence into these regions which had turned from a relatively secure border to an ambiguous neutral zone with no one really knowing who controlled what.

Atlas has or more aptly had a very large frontier with various towns, military facilities, natural resources, and other such things that need to be guarded by the military. With such a large number of things to be guarded, the military of Atlas simply did not have the number to compensate to the defense of these and, as a consequence, was spread very thinly among the regions, sometimes held only by a mere skeleton crew. One town was even said to house only half-a-dozen soldier, clearly showing just how poorly garrisoned some parts of the region were.

Now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the thinly garrisoned area was exactly the kind of ripe target the White Fang will try to take. General Ironwood and The Council in Atlas knew it. Winter Schnee and the Specialists knew it. The lowly Atlesian soldier under their command knew it. Even the citizen and workers of the towns, mines, and facilities that they guarded, try as they might to keep them from the real knowledge of the situation at hand knew it. Everyone and everybody knew it.

It’s no longer a question of if the attack would happen but when. And to the soldiers from the highly trained Huntsman to poorly equipped town militia the answer was very soon. Orders were made to train the local populace, Food was gathered, stored, and tightly rationed, weapons were bought or made and distributed. Everyone was preparing for the attack that would inevitably come like the winter storm of Mantle.

They waited. And waited.And waited. And waited…and waited a bit more.

Days passed. Weeks passed. Months passed.

For two whole months the garrison in the various towns and forts waited for an attack that never came.

It’s not that there weren’t any attacks made by the White Fang, more fallen mines from the SDC were clear proof of those, it’s just that there wasn’t any concentrated effort made by the White Fang to seriously take the region. Sure, a few dust mine may have fallen to the Fang, a few posts here and there may have been raided. But this losses, no matter how severe they maybe, aren’t ones that Atlas couldn’t recover from in short amount of time.

If they wanted to, the White Fang could’ve easily taken the various towns, villages, and forts along these regions. And in doing so they could’ve, given enough time and effort, reestablish their former foothold in the continent of Mantle that had slipped away after the Snow Storm Operation made by Atlesian military months before the disastrous Operation Blizzard. It’s also not so far-fetched to consider that had the White Fang of Mantle taken advantage of the situation to gain control of the border region that they gained an even stronger foothold in Mantle perhaps as strong as the Valean branch of the White Fang.

But they didn’t.

They have the men to execute an attack. They have the resources necessary to commit. They have the opportunity in the chaos that they created after Operation Blizzard and the Sack of Mantle. The White Fang of Mantle now also have what they’ve been lacking in their decade long struggle against Atlas, something that the Mistralian and Valean branch of the Fang have that let them to organize themselves and spread their influence across the region, an inspiring and charismatic leader in the form of one Perry the Platypus.

And yet, the attack which the Atlesian had grimly prepared for, the attack that all the military commanders, officers, and soldiers in the region knew of didn’t come. And as time slowly passed a new question entered the mind of the higher ups

Where was the White Fang?

Now, practically, it is very hard to keep track of an enemy army, especially given the nature of our more modern warfare and the guerilla tactics that the White Fang around the world had adopted. This was also compounded by the dangerous and treacherous terrain that are the woods and mountains of Atlas. It’s very easy for a commander in the region to lose track of an enemy army in the cold and snow.

The question on the location of the White Fang host became a common one in the minds of the higher ups, the generals, commanders, and officers. Their spies had little to report in the cold winter save for the occasional Grimm incursion and their forays into the mountains had yielded naught but abandoned camps and posts.

To sum it all up, Atlas has a dangerous hostile enemy army, consisting mostly of locals who are familiar with the frozen climate and dangerous terrain, heavily armed and equiped with their technology. The enemy are well-fed, well-discplined (at least to some extent), and are led by an inspiring and charismatic leader who is also a capable strategist and a genius tactician who’d led them from one victory to another. They’ve had an opportunity to take and possibly hold a region that could potentially serve as stronghold but they didn’t take it. Why?

To one Atlesian general the answer was clear.

“The platypus has chosen a new prey.” General Ironwood was said to have said. The White Fang has chosen a new target. Perry the Platypus has chosen a new target. But if this theory was to be believed, and by the majority of the upper ups in the military, it was, then that begs yet another question, who or what is their new target?

Theories and speculation went rampant along the chains of command. A few names were proposed but none seemed likely. One popular theory was Mantle. The city is only a distance away from Atlas, placed amidst the mountains and valleys of Solitas where it is easily defensible, it’s one of the centers of industries and, because of it’s proximity, it is where their food are mostly stored, making it, in practice, the granary of the Kingdom. But perhaps one of the reasons on why it is such an obvious target is due to politics.

Mantle always has a difficult relationship with Atlas ever since the Council had chosen to move the capital away from the old city and the disdain the people of Mantle had for the Council is basically a well-known secret in Atlas. Then there was the aforementioned ‘Sack of Mantle’ where the Atlesian commander-in-chief chose to abandoned the city rather than defend it against the encroaching forces of the White Fang. How Perry the Platypus treated the citizen of Mantle compared to how their upstart overlords did doesn’t really help.

But there was one name that slipped through everyone’s mind. One city that was never taken into consideration except for one musing by James Ironwood which he quickly dismissed because of it’s sheer ludicrousness.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the mountains of Solitas, in the dark frozen forest where men dare not tread Perry the Platypus was briefing his troops. He told them that they have achieved great many things. He told them of how they have crawled out of the jaws of certain defeat and return back from the dead, harder and stronger. He told them of how they have ‘sacked’ Mantle and humiliated the Atlesian at every turn, of how they have liberated their brothers and sisters from the clutches of the Schnees, of how they have plunged their enemies into a state of disarray never before seen since the Great War.

Now, He told them, is no longer the time for petty raids and ambushes. Now, he told them, is the time for a righteous retribution, a hammer of justice that shall strike their enemies where they least expect it, and will be remembered as the greatest most daring acts ever pulled by any Faunus alive or dead. And then he told them of their target.

Their objective was the city of Atlas itself.

The city of Atlas is on fire.

Not in the metaphorical sense of the phrase, like the citizens of Atlas are revolting –though that is debatable- no, but like the city of Atlas is on fire as in there are literally honest to god flames blazing through the streets and buildings of Atlas, consuming almost anything in their path and leaving nothing but ash in their wake.

Not all of Atlas is on fire, mind you, if that was the case I would’ve probably book it hours ago. Instead of a giant all-consuming fire that you may think, the flames that are raging through Atlas are separated and localize. There are many of them. They were coming mostly from the industrial districts; the factories, plants, etc. Some were coming from police precincts or military barracks and posts all along the city. Fortunately none near places of residents or public places like shopping malls and etc. The White Fang are terrorist, yes, but we’re civilized terrorist or atleast the bunch that I so happened to lead are.

My old officers often said that when you’re frozen in fear, it happened because of a danger that came so suddenly, so terrifyingly, and so close to you that your brain is so shocked it can’t react in time. Personally I’d beg to differ. Here I am, standing hundreds of meters from the nearest fire, frozen with fear even though there’s a considerable distance separating me away from the flames.

As the fire slowly creep from street to street, from building to building, I couldn’t help but to look on with horror and, at the same time, fascination. The kind of fascination similar to that you feel when you’re watching a good horror movie specifically designed to prey upon your deepest darkest fear. It scares you yes, but at the same time you couldn’t take your eyes off the screen.

A boom just went off followed not a moment later by a small mushroom cloud made out of flame and smoke and dust. There went another SDC factory I thought to myself. There are as many SDC factories in Atlas as there are Grimm or so I was told. The explosion, smaller though it was than most of the explosion that occurred today, sparked yet another fire. Soon enough flame will engulfed the area surrounding the factory or what remains of it.

Now that I think about it, how many of these explosions had been cause by my men? Ten?Twenty? I lost count after the first few dozens. The fireman and the fire droids of Atlas must be having a field day with these things happening all over their city. A large part of me wanted to run, hide behind a corner, and cry myself to an early grave. But the soldiers standing behind me made it all but impossible.

A loud, mighty roar brought me from my reverie and I looked up to see steel-clad bullheads soaring above me. There were dozens of them. They were painted white and silver and they looked magnificent, the prime example of the Atlesian technological advancement. On their sides were the white spear and shield of Atlas, tall and proud. It seems that city has finally called upon her Huntsman and Huntsman-in-training to aid her in her plight.

I was wondering if it was too late to book it off now but my hope died as I saw the first of those Bullheads. Oh, there was no doubt in my mind that I could reach a Bullhead in time, but what then? With the military and Huntsmen running around the city it will be suicidal to try to escape. They’ll no doubt be checking up every single flight that are leaving and entering the city. And the last thing I wanted is to give myself to them in a silver platter, not when I am Atlas’ number one most wanted terrorist.

For now though I have to be content to wait and watch the unfolding scene as it is. There was no need to rush nor was there any to worry about my men. I’ve explicitly instructed them to use the old tunnels and sewers of Atlas as a quick exit. By the time those Huntsman arrived my soldiers will be long gone. Fun fact; while most of Atlas’ security and defenses were top-notch and hack-proof most of their sewer cameras aren’t really up to date. Heck, even a child with basic computing skill could probably hack their codes to pieces. Something I ought to know before I went with this plan.

Amidst the dots of flames and chaos, two buildings stood, tall, and proud, and shining. The Councilar building with its white walls and gleaming dome, and the military HQ with tall, pure, strong pillars of steel and concrete. I’d spared those building because 1) I wanted to create distraction not destruction, the only one who’ll win if Atlas fell are the Grimm and 2) It will be quite amusing to watch the Atlesian politicians try to escape from the fallout of these attacks by sticking their blades in each other’s throats.

It doesn’t matter now, I suppose. My brilliant schemes and plans had, once again, been derailed. Well actually not derailed, it had been crashed, destroyed into tiny little pieces, and thrown off the mountains of Atlas just for good measure. I wanted to know what I did in my previous life to warrant such a string of unfortunate coincidences.

“Commander,” A voice from behind me called me out from my musings. I turned around to see Lieutenant Kobalt standing at the ready. I’d honestly forgotten that he was standing there this whole time.

Commander he called me. Just the very word seemed to mock my existence. I wasn’t a commander or a general or a leader by any means of the words, just some lucky guy who happened to be at the right place, at the right time. Or in my case, at the wrong moment and at the wrong time. I wasn’t even a sergeant when they started calling me commander, just a common, faceless mook in the rank-and-file of the White Fang. But I’m not going to complain. Besides, a commander is less likely to be sent into the frontline like a common grunt. Which I was.

Apparently when you happened to be the only guy with the plan somehow everyone look up to you as a leader of some sort. It doesn’t help that you also happened to be the only sane man in a group of degenerate terrorist or that you also saved most of their lives from certain death by the Grimm, The Atlas Military or worse, the SDC.

“Yes, Kobalt?” I asked.

“Almost all of the bombs had been set off in their designated locations as per your orders.” He said in that cold, bland, uninterested tone of his. I swear the guy could literally kill a man with as much emotion as he would a fly.

“And the men?” I asked again.

“Most of them have rallied back to their respective post as you have instructed. They’re currently waiting for your next order.”

I thought about it for a moment. Slipping back and tailing it now would be next to impossible with the amount of men in the HQ. I can’t just leave without someone noticing my absence. Yet again, I’ve been forced to improvise into a predicament because of circumstances outside of my control.

I could order an assault on the Academy of Atlas and try to sneak my way out as battle raged around but I doubt that I’ll have a high chance of survivability in a pitched battle, especially against one of the most militaristic and technologically advance Huntsman Academy on Remnant.

Try to take the city then? No, Atlas is a very big city. And with Huntsman from the academy running around the place it will be a bloodbath if not an outright massacre of Faunus perhaps larger than the great Purge of Mantle. There’s no way I’m going to send a band of grunts and mooks with no Aura against an army of highly trained, highly disciplined, highly advance, highly motivated, and really angry folk who’d dedicated their entire lives to perfecting the art of killing. At the least not when I could still find some use for them like using them as baits as I escape from the killing zone or meat shields to put some distance between me and my no doubt murderous enemies.

Hmm, what to do?

A plan began to formulate at the back of my mind. At first only as a whisper, a mere musing but then it grew into a very large beast that continuously pound on my head. It was a crazy plan. It was a mad plan. The kind of mad that King Aerys wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole or a large dragon the size of Balerion. It’s an audacious plan born out of desperation and months of doing the audacious in a bid of struggle for survival.

It was also something that my enemy would least expect.

“Get me our hacking team.” I said as I walked back to the HQ with my head held high, I’ve learned from experience that that kind of posture often gives an air of confidence and a feeling of superiority. Things that I would need if I am to make this work.

Before I opened the door I turned towards Kobalt. “And get me the coolest, fanciest suit and coat you we have,” I thought for a moment and then added. “And a cape if you can find one.”

For the umpteenth time of the day, General James Ironwood gritted his teeth.

It had been a long day, a long week, and a very long few months for the poor Atlesian general. These past few months had been taxing him heavily, with all the things that are happening in Atlas it was a miracle that he could find a moment just to lay down to rest or even sleep.

It had not been to his surprise then that he had woken up to the sound of an explosion.

Though officially he was the Headmaster of Atlas Academy, he was also a general in the military with considerable influence in the Council of Atlas. As such, while he would prefer to run his duty from the safe walls of his academy there are also some circumstances –these last few months being a very prime example of those circumstances- that inevitably forces him to work inside the city. As a recognized general he was given his own resident, very near to the Councilor Building, and also his own, personal residence.

The Counsilor Building was built, rather coincidentally, quite near to the industrial district of Atlas which was where the explosion came from. Due to the Councilor Building’s close proximity to the industrial district and by extension his own residence it was then very reasonable to conclude that Ironwood was one of the first who felt the shockwave reverberating through the air.

Still confused and half asleep Ironwood was not prepared for the next explosion that occurred on the main 1st Police Precinct of Atlas which was also coincidentally placed near the Counselor Building. Nor was he prepared for the next one or the next one or the next- you get the gist.

Then poor General James Ironwood, still wearing his pajamas, opened the door of his residence to the most horrifying firework show that he had ever watched in his entire life.

That was an hour ago.

Now, inside the military HQ in Atlas, the extremely exhausted James Ironwood is trying to deal with the what some Net News has called, The Great Bombing of Atlas. It was a stupid name but it didn’t matter now he suppose. Right now he was busy calling and being called himself by very angry Councilmen who’d demanded explanation on what is considered the worst terrorist attack that has ever happened in Atlas.

“Yes Sir, I’ve already had my best men working on the fire.” He said for the hundredth to one of those very angry Councilmen

“With all due respect, General,” Of which you had none Ironwood thought ruefully as the voice on the other side of the line drawled. “Your best is not enough, I demand that more men be put to work.”

“And with all due respect, Sir,” Ironwood’s voice was laced with venom. “We have no more men in the nearest vicinity of the city. We’ve called upon what men we could. I was even forced to call upon some of our Huntsman and more experienced trainee from the academy.” It had been a hard decision on his part. He didn’t want to leave the academy undefended. Not when the enemy is at the gate. But at the same time he didn’t have enough men inside the city that are experienced and skilled enough to deal with the chaos that are happening on the street.

“What about the men at the frontier? Surely you can call upon them.”

“I already did,” Ironwood said. “But it will take them sometime before they could arrive and until then, we’re stuck with what men we have.”

“Can’t you call upon more Huntsman from the academy?”

“Councilman,” Ironwood said slowly as if explaining to a petulant child –which considering who he was talking to, wasn’t really that far off-“We’re already stretched thin enough as we are. If we pulled more of our Huntsman away from the academy there’s a very large and very real possibility that our enemy might use this chance to strike on our academy-” Which in Ironwood’s opinion is extremely suicidal. “Or stage an ambush against our Huntsman reinforcement.” Which was more reasonable and plausible.

“And what if they attack here, General, what if they chose to try to take the city of Atlas and do what they did back in Mantle?”

“I can assure you, Councilman Winchester, that even if the worse comes to worse, we have our most experienced and dedicated Huntsman and Specialist, which was more than what we have back in Mantle, waiting here inside these very walls. I have the utmost confidence that we can threw back whatever it is they throw against us.”

There was a long moment of silence at the end of the line. Ironwood was abou to speak up before the Councilman beat him to it. “…I see,” No you don’t. “Very well then, General. I’ll trust you in this regard. But know this, that should the safety of the people of Atlas be put in jeopardy because of your decision then…”

There was a beep and the call ended right then and there. Ironwood waited for a few moments before he sighed and slumped deep into his chair. A hand covered his face. “If only these damned Councilman did their work as much as they spread insults and threats…” He muttered under his breath.

His musing was stopped by the sound knocking of a door.

Ironwood straightened himself, drew a deep breath, and said. “Enter.”

The door opened revealing a man with dark brown mustache and receding hair wearing a standard captain uniform and carrying a very large stack of files and papers on one arm and a thermos on the other. Ironwood’s heart sank deep into the abyss as he saw the piles of work standing in front of him.

“Captain,” Ironwood asked. “Are those the paperworks?”

“Yes, general,” The loyal aide answered.

The great general of Atlas sighed. “Very well then, just put them on that table at the corner.”

After he did so, he placed the much needed thermos on Ironwood’s desk and opened the cap. Black heavenly booze streamed down into Ironwood’s cup. The moment the thermos was lifted, Ironwood drank it dry and gave the cup to Jurgen who loyally refilled it.

“Long day sir? He asked.

Ironwood tightened his grip around his cup. “That’s an understatement, Captain and you know it.”

“Apologize, sir.” Ironwood waved his free hand.

“That’s quite alright, Captain.”

Just as his hand moved to gulped down the second cup of coffee his door opened with a mighty crash. A man stood, holding at the knob, panting and gasping for air.

“General Ironwood, sir!” The man gave a mock salute, his face wet with sweat.

“Specialist Echo,” General Ironwood said. “What is it?” Has there been another bombing? An attack?

The Specialist hesitated for a moment. “I-it-it’s the news sir,” At Ironwood’s raised eyebrows he continued on. “With all due respect, you must see this sir.”

Ironwood rose from his desk and made to follow the specialist.

Inside the room was pure unmitigated chaos. People came in and out of the room, walking about the floor with a telephone on their hands or sitting in their tiny office with a computer screen glued to their eyes. People were talking, screaming, crying. A cacophony of sounds and an opera of such disorder that he had never seen from the normally serious and disciplined Atlesian military personnels on their usual day. Then again, this isn’t their usual day and this isn’t a normal crisis.

He saw something in front of him. A huge crowd was gathering up in the front, their eyes fixed on a nearby TV set on the wall.

He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream. Wanted to drag those people with his bare hands and tell them to get back to work. Lives are at stakes! And each moment they delayed, each seconds they wasted is another Atlesian life lost.

Then he saw the man who stood in the screen.

The figure stood tall and proud. He was draped in a royal and fancy garb of tyrian purple. On his shoulders were fastened a cape dark as the moonless midnight. He wore a helmet, a mask, that covered his entire face, hiding him from view. If it weren’t for his voice, it would’ve been impossible to discern his identity.

“Greetings, people of Atlas.” He said. Ironwood never thought that a nightmare may have such a smooth and compelling voice like an apple pie draped in vanilla ice cream and dripping with chocolate sauce for the ear.

He stood frozen, like a deer in a headlight. It was only momentary before he abruptly began shoving his way roughly through the mass of people. The crowd parted away before him. Scattering about like a pack of deer that had just seen a hungry-looking lion in their midst as they realized who had been standing at the back of the crowd.

James Ironwood rarely experienced nightmares in his life. The old nightmares that children normally had in their childhood; of boogeyman hiding behind their closet, of goblins and snarks waiting underneath their beds, were not the nightmares that the young Ironwood had. No. His was more real. More close. The monsters in his dreams were out and about in the world.

His childhood nightmares consisted of Grimm flooding into his town, dragging him away from the embrace of his parents. His nightmares contained dark, soulless, beings devoid of conscience visiting his very door. The nightmares would wake him up in the dead of night and rushed him along to his parent’s bed where his mother would take him and sooth him, shooing away the nightmare in the process.

As Ironwood grew more older, more mature, the nightmares began to lessen. They were not entirely gone, but they were far less frequent, far less intense and he was able to . Grimm were no longer nightmares but were a fact of life. They no longer scared him as much as they did in his childhood and he was able to deal with them himself. When he became a Huntsman he believed his nightmares to be gone for good. That there was nothing he should fear.

He was a fool.

A damn, idiotic, moronic, stupid, fool!

Nightmares, he had come to learn, didn’t go away when you grow up. No. They simply waited at the back of your mind. Lying beneath the surface of consciousness. Dormant and undisturbed like a sleeping Leviathan. That is not dead which can eternal lie and in strange wintry nights, even the dead may rise.

And this seemingly dead nightmare had risen from the grave harder and stronger.

it took a new form, wears a new mask, and even speaks in a new voice.

It even has a name and it’s name is Perry the Platypus.

Ironwood took a seat on a nearby chair, given to him by an aide. Not a moment sooner the man began to speak once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry the cursing will start ;Evil Laugh:
> 
> On another note; Poor Ironwood, you just can't get a break.


End file.
